


Burning Sun, Charred Earth

by Rath



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rath/pseuds/Rath
Summary: Find the flattest stones on the edge of a single birch tree on the farthest hill from your childhood swings, turn it three times in your hand without dropping it, and they said the gods will come to you.But no one told you what gods will come to you.
Kudos: 2





	Burning Sun, Charred Earth

**Author's Note:**

> my first time posting anything on ao3, after lurking like a lurking lurk destined to lurk

Find the flattest stones on the edge of a single birch tree on the farthest hill from your childhood swings, turn it three times in your hand without dropping it, and they said the gods will come to you.

But no one told you what gods will come to you. Is it the one you prayed to when you were three and your mother hold your little hand on the corn fields? Or the one when you trembling on the corner of your father’s workshop after breaking his precious cup that he told you not to touch? The one you prayed to when you stand up for yourself and those you closest to? Or the one that makes you kill another beings for the sake of belonging?

They didn’t have to tell you in the end.

The rumors spread as fast as fire eating the last of your childhood home between the warriors. “Weary soul, the lot,” they said. “Madness beyond help,” they whisper in your presence.

There is strength in anger. The one that you feel in your mouth, the instant bitterness. Makes you want to throw up words you can’t form your mouth to. Walk away hurt more than a lifetime of war, but you’re older now. You give up on people. People gave up on you.

\--

The heaven where you imagine the gods would live is as majestic as you can ever imagine, as a lowly farmer’s child. The arch that reaches into the blue sky, bright as dove wings, as smooth as baby’s cheek. Beyond that was a lush garden. Decorated with no flowers, but no less majestic in it’s mere presence. And finally, the final gate.

This is what you’ve been waiting for for the last years of your life. The one reason that drives your heart beating and your eyes bright.

It’s... a library. Like one you never saw before. Rows and rows and rows of parchment in the open hallway. Books, papers, parchments as far as the eyes can see. And on the ceiling, illuminated by mid-noon sunshine, a Sun.

“Welcome, dear boy,” said an old voice from beyond what you can see. Stepping in into the shadow a bit revealed an old man in a dark purple rope. He has neither hair nor nose. You bow a bit. It only seems appropriate. He doesn’t really smile, but the air changed and your chest get a little bit lighter.

“Lost?” asked him, in his old language accent.

“No, not really. I-” you started but losing the thread of thoughts. An owl is perched on the old man’s right shoulder. Brown and grey, beak as sharp as the knife he used to sleep with. It coos and fly away, disappearing into the darkness in the long long corridor.

“You are welcome to stay, if you wish to,” he continued, face unsmiling but the air rustled in his stillness.

“But it will be harder to go back if you do.” Your eyes snapped back into his wrinkled face, the ones you usually find in the town hall, giving orders to soldiers.

Your resolve is stronger than ever. “I’ll stay, thank you.” And steps into the long corridor where the owl had disappeared. “Can I..” you tapered off. It seems strange. You’re sure you’ve never been here before, but something tells you you know the way.

“Of course. You know where I am if you need anything.” You discreetly peeking over your shoulder and saw him getting back to his book, a quill in his hand.

“Yes, thank you.” It feels right. You will stay.


End file.
